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[s]Goal: 100,000 New Goal: 200,000[/s] New Goal: 250.000

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Two separate things. Melting has nothing to do with the dying from this heinous cold.

Luckily it's still relatively warm today. 40s I think. OMG it's all fuzzy. Really driving is going to suck.

... perhaps there is some you can borrow from someone at work do your fever will be down enough to drive.

 

everyone at work keeps advil around.

wow. despicable me really is a great movie. i must thank you all for not distracting me so i can finally pay attention to it.

 

can't tell you how many times ive had it on and seen just about none of it.

 

didn't realize.

From Sky Trillium by Julian May...

 

Page 129, 2nd full paragraph...Del Rey hardcover...

 

As the usual crystalline vision of her destination attained solidity, Haramis found herself standing on a small patch of high ground in the midst of the flooded swamp. It was night and raining dismally, but her magic gave her clear sight of the locale. She had been here before, of course, seeking clues to Anigel's abduction. The trampled mud round about the site of the viaduct had long since been smoothed by the unrelenting downpour. The only peculiar thing about the place was a nearly imperceptible straight line an ell or so in length that persistently indented the soggy earth. Her talisman would have called forth the viaduct had she made the request, but it was high time that she used nonmagical means for the summoning.

From The Fellowship of the Ring by Tolkien...

 

Page 138, end of chapter VI, Ballantine Books Del Rey paperback, movie-themed edition.

 

Now let the song begin! Let us sing together

Of sun, stars, moon and mist, rain and cloudy weather,

Light on the budding leaf, dew on the feather,

Wind on the open hill, bells on the heather,

Reeds by the shady pool, lilies on the water:

Old Tom Bombadil and the River-daughter!

 

And with that song the hobbits stood upon the threshold, and a golden light was all about them.

From The Host by Stephenie Meyer:

 

Page 414, 3rd paragraph through the...8th paragraph. Little, Brown hardcover.

 

It was only me now. Just me, and the pain and the horror that I would never escape. I would never not have that image in my head again. I would never be free of it. It was forever a part of me.

 

I didn't know how to mourn here. I could not mourn in human ways for these lost souls whose names I would never know. For the broken child on the table.

 

I had never had to mourn on the Origin. I didn't know how it was done there, in the truest home of my kind. So I settled for the way of the Bats. It seemed appropriate, here where it was as black as being blind. The Bats mourned with silence--not singing for weeks on end until the pain of the nothingness left behind by the lack of music was worse than the pain of losing a soul. I'd known loss there. A friend, killed in a freak accident, a falling tree in the night, found too late to save him from the crushed body of his host. Spiraling...Upward...Harmony; those were the words that would have held his name in this language. Not exact, but close enough. There had been no horror in his death, only grief. An accident.

 

The bubbling stream was too discordant to remind me of our songs. I could grieve beside its harmony-free clatter.

 

I wrapped my arms tightly around my shoulders and mourned for the child and the other soul who had died with it. My siblings. My family. If I had found a way free of this place, if I had warned the Seekers, their remains would not be so casually mangled and mixed together in that blood-steeped room.

 

I wanted to cry, to keen in misery. But that was the human way. So I locked my lips and hunched in the darkness, holding the pain inside.

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